Nevermore
by Tofania
Summary: A BBC Sherlock version of Edgar Allan Poe's brilliant poem, "The Raven".


**Nevermore**

Once upon a midnight dreary

While I pondered, weak and weary

Over many quaint and curious case files of forgotten lore

While I nodded, nearly napping

Suddenly there came a tapping

As of someone gently rapping, rapping on my front door

"Must be Mrs. Hudson," I muttered, "tapping at my front door

Merely this and nothing more."

Ah, distinctly I remember, it was in the bleak December

When his bloody, battered, body had filled me with shock

Eagerly I wished the morrow

Vainly I had sought to borrow

From my therapist surcease of sorrow

Sorrow for the lost Sherlock

The rare and radiant detective whom the angels named Sherlock

Nameless here forevermore

And each silken, sad, uncertain ring of his dusty, quiet violin

Filled me, thrilled me with fantastic terrors never felt before

So that now to still the beating of my heart I stood repeating

"It's just Mrs. Hudson tapping at my front door

Sleepy Mrs. Hudson is tapping at my front door

Merely this, and nothing more"

Presently, my soul grew stronger

Hesitating then no longer

"Mrs Hudson" said I, "It's late, why are you knocking on my door?

Because the fact is I was napping, but so gently you came tapping

and so faintly you came rapping, that I can't get any sleep anymore"

…here I opened wide the door…

Darkness there, and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing

Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before

But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token

And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Sherlock?"

This I whispered and an echo murmured back the word, "Sherlock!"

This is it and nothing more.

Back into 221b turning, all my soul within me burning

Soon I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before

"Surely," said I, "Surely that is something at my window lattice

Let me see then, what that is, and this mystery explore

Let's think like Sherlock for a moment and this mystery explore

It's just the wind, and nothing more!"

Open here I flung the shutter, when with many a flirt and flutter

There climbed in Sherlock Holmes from my happier days of yore

Not the least obeisance made he

Not a minute stopped or stayed he

When with mien of lord or lady, climbed in through my window door

Climbed in quickly and deftly right through my window door

Climbed in and stood, and nothing more.

With this amazing man beguiling my calm fancy into crying

By the grave past circumstances I've described to you before

"Though you seemed to have died," I said, "You are unbelievably alive!

No one convinced me, all this time, that you'd told me a lie. Tell me, will you ever do this to me again?"

Quoth Sherlock, "Nevermore."

Much I marveled my best friend to hear discourse so plainly

Though my feelings for him complicated, my heart for him too sore

For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being

Ever yet was damned with seeing

Such a friend die

Seeing such a friend fall and die right before their eyes

But blessed enough for them to not stay dead

Forevermore

But Sherlock, standing lonely right by the window, spoke only

That one word as if his soul in that one word he did outpour

Nothing farther then he muttered

Not a deduction did he utter

Till I scarcely more than muttered, "He has left me once before

On the morrow he will leave me as my hopes have flown before"

Shouted Sherlock, "Nevermore!"

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken

"Doubtless," said I, "You are only uttering that word from your vast stock and store"

"To assure me no repetition of this unmerciful disaster which has torn me fast and torn me faster till my songs one burden bore"

"Till dirges of my melancholy hope one burden bore"

"of never-nevermore."

But Sherlock still beguiling all my fancy into crying

Straight he wheeled a cushioned seat in front of me and window and door

Then upon the velvet sinking he betook himself to linking

Deduction unto deduction, thinking what this lovely army doctor of yore

What this lascivious, lucky, laborious, and lovely army doctor of yore

Had been doing while he'd been gone.

So I just stood, engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing

To the man whose icy eyes now burned into my bosom's core

Me and more he sat divining with his head at ease reclining

On the cushion's velvet lining, which the lamp-light gloated over

On the velvet-violet lining with the lamplight gloating over

Which I thought he'd press, nevermore.

Then I thought, the air grew denser, perfumed by an unseen censer

Swung by my subconscious whose dense footfalls fell heavy as rock

"Wretch!" I cried, "My mind has lent this, by my imagination I have made this,"

"Respite…respite and nepenthe from these hallucinations of Sherlock,"

"Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Sherlock!"

Quoth Moriarty, "Nevermore."

"Prophet!" said I, "Thing of evil! Prophet still, if human or devil!"

"Whether reality sent or whether my imagination sent thee here ashore,"

"I am desolate, yet all undaunted, in this deserted flat, enchanted"

"In my mind by horrors haunted-tell me truly, I implore-"

"Will there...will there ever be relief from this torture? Tell me, tell me, I implore!"

Quoth Moriarty, "Nevermore."

"Prophet," said I, "Thing of evil! Prophet still, if human or devil!"

"By that heaven that bends above us, by that God we both adore"

"Tell this soul with sorrow laden, if within the distant Heaven"

"It shall clasp a rare detective whom the angels name Sherlock"

"Clasp a rare and radiant detective whom the angels name Sherlock"

Quoth Moriarty, "Nevermore"

"Be that word our sign of parting, man or beast," I shrieked, upstarting.

"Get thee back into the underworld and leave alone my happier days of yore"

"Leave my loneliness unbroken, there is nothing else I can bear anymore"

"Leave Sherlock in my heart and get thyself out though my door!"

Quoth myself, "Nevermore."

And Sherlock, never flitting, still is sitting, _still _is sitting

As nothing but a memory in my mind and a hallucination outside my door

And his eyes have all the seeming of a dead man who is dreaming

And the lamp light over him streaming throws his shadow on the floor

And my heart from out that shadow lies broken on the floor

Knowing Sherlock will be back-nevermore!


End file.
